Uh…was that uh…well, was that the ONLY women you chose to be with, or…was there something you had in common?
I seem to remember a night when I was blowin chunks from way too much Beam and this chick helped me clean myself up and I felt obligated to her in spite of her hideousness…I heard a year or so later that she had a rat-like baby, but I just thought it was a malicious rumor…hmmm
(Edit for Edith)
Now he’s a coward, go figure.
A coward? In this one case, I prefer to hold my tongue. There’s nothing I can say or do to affect the comments above. Sending death wishes … I don’t need to advertise that in order for it to work. And I can see mods siding with them over allegations of threats. I enjoy this forum to some degree and I’ve been banned before for less. So I retracted my statements.
Too late. Just like aggressively reactive expressions, once you put it out there, simply deleting it does not make it go away.
Seriously? Death wishes for some sarcastic banter? WTF? You would have lasted all of five seconds where I grew up. If I didn’t hear some reference to my mother or one of my sisters every day, I thought my friends were pissed. Chill the fuck out dude. You chose to climb into the arena with jackasses extraordinaire and then get all huffy and fuckin hateful when they act like…jackasses.
BTW…your “death wishes” have exactly the same amount of effectiveness as did your prayers in your earlier life…
Ratty Ratty Ratty: First of all, when threatening, “Presentation is Everything.” Second; You just won’t get me complaining to the mods unless your trolling becomes utter and complete “Repetitive Nonsense,” and you are not responding directly or honestly to posts. Even then when I do make a comment, to the mods, It is always out in the open. I have never sent a mod a private message. Not even to request … never mind!
I seriously doubt that you could offend skriten. While he has treated you with seriousness and kindness so far… I fear that candle is near its base. At least you thought about your posts after you posted them, and then deleted them.
Ratty, that is a step in the right direction. Now try to think about your post before you press the reply button. Ask yourself: "Am I making unsubstantiated claims. Am I saying shit for which I have no evidence at all? How closely do my comments comport with reality? When I insult Cog, is it funny or just vindictive? After all, if you post a ‘funny,’ I am likely to remember it and use it on the next poor sod that walks past me uttering complete nonsense.
I think your therapy is working out just fine. Good job deleting the nonsense. It would not have gotten you the result you were hoping for anyway.
Uh, just to try to get this back to some semblance of usefulness to @mr.macabre13 ,
I have an exercise I started doing quite some time ago to interrupt my impatient reactions in public. If I am approaching the cash register in a store and there is the opportunity to do so, I always insist that someone else go in front of me. The response is always positive and it reminds me that it is not “all about me”. I still do it because I am still impatient at times. Likewise if the clerk is slow for any reason and apologizes for it, I always lighten the mood by saying that I am too old to be in that big of a hurry or express empathy for the clerk’s situation. Basically, for me, it is necessary to keep reminding myself that indeed it is not all about me all of the time. This may not apply to everyone here, but it has proven useful for me.
Edit for Edith
I love it when we find little ways to work on ourselves.
Well, I had to give up on anyone else doing it for me…The humbling part is when you have to revisit something you thought you had nailed down years ago…
I’ll tell you my reaction to Cog’s comments. Didn’t care. But it’s the fact that I don’t care which bothers me. I believe I should. And so I make a response.
Skrit - I would have survived 5 minutes where you grew up. I grew up in a shitty little ghetto of a farm town populated by single mothers in subsidized housing. We children were free to roam the streets, the forests, the sand dunes. We did what children do. We played guns in the forests. We caught snakes in the fields.
Then we grew older and wanted to be like the teenagers. We stole cigarettes. We smashed windows. Some of the kids went to juvenile hall where they learned how to steal cars. A simple flat head screw driver pushed hard enough into the ignition of an old unlocked pick up truck was often enough. How to light cars on fire. After we we had used just about all the gas it was time to torch the vehicle.
We also played in abandoned construction sites as young children. Where the concrete foundations of an imagined four story building complex were like a maze; a veritable gift from God to adventurous children. Where we walked around and we wondered what all of those hospital needles were doing all over the ground as we marvelled at the graffiti - so much art.
Then, when we weren’t bullying the weaker kids, we practiced on each other. When they found that I was the sensitive one, it was the opening of hunting season. I spent to much time with bad influences because I didn’t want to be friendless. Mama jokes were made. Most of the time I ignored it. Sometimes I would pretend I cared. The performance must have been believable. The taunting increased.
But in the end I got out of that shit town. Into a respectable university near the big city. Surrounded by intelligent people. I found my self. I found romance. When it came time to return to the old town, those “friends” of mine, the ones who had taunted and abused me the most severe, these veritable sociopaths, they had all met with misfortune. Some were dead. Some dead in car crashes. Some by overdose. Some had gotten into cocaine and drug dealing and debt to the gangs. They fell off the face of the earth. Their whereabouts unknown. Rumours that they had been murdered by the gangs which supplied their drugs. Or rumours that they were living on the street. Others in jail. Some of the worst influences - and I laugh thinking of this - I heard were taken in by Christian families. Converted to faith in Jesus - as if you could convert a sociopath from his ways.
All of this misfortune - I laughed to my self with Schadenfreude. These little groups I hung out in. We were not all bad. And some of my truest friends turned out well. Families, houses, jobs in the trades. But the ones that treated me the worst, I would swear to my self at night that I would get my revenge. And I had to wait a long time, but eventually each and every one of those fuckers met with grave misfortune - death, poverty, ruin, and religion.
Now I don’t wish death on anyone here. The words Cog used - I’ve heard them all. Maybe not in that order or all at the same time. But those and worse. Test tube baby. Etc. etc. this was nothing. Faggot. Etc. etc. again. Why should I care? I have this tendency to forget that others are capable of insult as well. I get my naïvety from my mother. It comes in handy when making innocent jokes. But often backfires. So, it’s no surprise that Cog had a come back to my deadbeat dad insult. I forgot my place.
So, no death wishes. And no thoughts of revenge. I’ve watched my most hated enemies fall on the hardest of times with unannounced joy. That has been enough for me. I no longer have enemies. Just supervisors. Managers. Coaching sessions at work to “improve” my report writing skills, etc. etc. I am mostly surrounded by positive people. I don’t know. If you think about how many people there are out there. And if you think that AR would be one of the largest gathering places for people interested in Atheism. And that of all those people there are only a dozen or so regulars. The oddballs who maybe don’t have an active enough social life IRL. Perhaps you are not an oddball. I am one. I search for kindred spirits and find none. It is likely too much to wish for on the WWW.
I’ll be the first to admit I’m an oddball with no active social life. Guess I always have been in some form or fashion. Now more than ever, I suppose. Being retired the last few years and living “off the beaten path”, friends are few and far between. Quite honestly, the AR here is the closest I get to “socializing” with anybody. In real life, I’m pretty much a hermit, and - to be honest - most often “socially awkward.”
Hell, even during all those years with the military and the police, I never really fit in to any particular group. I could easily flow back and forth between most all the different “cliques”. Same during my high school days. Granted, I was typically “labeled” as being part of the “academic” group (Nerds), but I could just as easily hang with the jocks, or the outcasts, or any of the other typical high school groups. I just never FULLY fit into ANY of them. I usually “followed the rules”, but only as long as they weren’t totally stupid, or until they hampered me in accomplishing a task/assignment. (But that mostly developed AFTER high school, and is another topic altogether.)
Basically, I’ve always been a guy who was never really part of the group, even when I WAS part of the group. (Does that make sense?) As a result, I had very few true friendships over the years. And most all of those are now “scattered to the wind”, living their lives in distant places that make any casual reunions highly impractical. Therefore, like it or not, you godless degenerates may be stuck with my sorry ass for awhile.
Not sure if we ever ‘nail it down.’ I believe it is always a part of us. When I was a young teen, I woud break into cars and rummage through them for change. (I mean young 13, 14, 15.) I lived in a beach city with a lot of toruests. (Balboa, Ca.) It’s also a very rich area and I grew up on welfare. Scrounging for cash was a family lifestyle.
Anyway, I can walk by a car today, see something interesting in it, and think… ‘I could have that if I wanted it. That car would be so easy to get into.’ Another scenario is when a friend can’t find keys to get into their house. Opening a window or locked door, easy as pie. I thought about becoming a locksmith as … “I have a certain set of skills.”
I’m also not going to risk fucking myself over for $2 in change. I’m just not that stupid. — Any more. Is there a risk I might take? Honestly, I don’t know. Perhaps. But it would certainly have to be something that would set me up for the rest of my life and be almost legal. “Ripping off a drug dealer?” Very risky… And I am not ‘stupid.’ Whatever I did, if I did something, I would NEVER have a partner. That is the number one way crimes get solved. No one would ever know shit about what I did.
Have I thought about this… Yes. Especially due to my early life of crime. There are so many conditions in my way now that no possible heist could meet them all. That’s another discussion. I look at it this way. I know myself pretty well. I am always amazed at people who say, “I could never do this,” or “never do that.” Sure you could! You are a human being. You may nave a lack of imagination preventing you from thinking of such things, but humans can do all sorts of crazy shit under the right circumstances. I’ve been crime free since I turned 18. Well, nearly crime free. Never been caught. I probably did a few things before I was 23. It was just the way I was brought up. My brother and sister have both done hard time. I just decided I wanted my life to be different. And it is. But don’t think for a moment I don’t understand all that other bullshit. It’s all right here and it has been useful in my chosen profession.
Our life experiences are who we are. Those experiences stay with us. Ignoring them does not make them go away. They are there. As we mature they can become strengths or they can become chains. It all depends on what you do with them. IMO.
The 2 ball pythons, the sand boa, and her king snake are very friendly and docile. She can get them out for a while and pet them or let them slither around in her hair.
Sounds like a very normal childhood to me: What was shitty about it? I have done everything you have done and more. My childhood is rich with experiences. You burned down a car? I burned down my house. You roamed the streets and forests, I roamed the beaches, piers, and bay. Do you know how easy it is to get into a locked Yacht? You know they have tarps over them so people can’t see what you are doing inside?
Abandon construction sites: Great fun. Jumping off the second floor and into the sandpile. (My brother burned down one of those construction sites.) I had great fun as a kid.
Christmas morning, with a mom, bitching that we were not going to have a fucking Christmas this year because we couldn’t afford it. Ready to beat the shit out of any kid that complained. And then the fire department shows up with a Christmas tree, gifts, and a fucking turkey dinner. How great is that!
Halloween night and I get a skeleton head on a stick. I’m just having fun with it and I am literally 5 years old. I scare my little brother who is 3. My father’s reaction is to take me into the bedroom, turn off the lights, and scream, “I’ll teach you to scare your little brother.” The next thing I remember is flying across the room. I mean flying. Somehow I ended up hiding under the bed and he could not find me. I can still hear his voice. “Where are you, you little fuck.”
Hey. I’m having fun remembering all these stories. I got another one. I’m 3 years old. My brother is a baby. I had to go potty so my mom takes me into the bathroom where my dad is taking a bath. I do my business, finish, and look at my dad. "Look mommy,’ I say, “Daddy has a penis just like mine.” SMACK backhanded across the face and knocked to the floor. Welcome to dad’s insanity. No wonder my mother left the asshole.
When do you want to sit around and compare stories? No one gives a shit about our stories. They won’t put food on the table or buy you a new pair of shoes. No one gives a shit about my stories and frankly, my stories helped to make me the person I am today. Because of them, I am able to empathize with all sorts of people in all sorts of situations. I can say, "FUCK YOU, GET OFF YOUR FUCKING ASS AND STOP BLAMING YOUR PAST FOR YOUR BULLSHIT LIFE TODAY,’ and do so with a completely clear conscience. You make your own life and if you have not figured that out by now you are bound to live the same old way, doing the same old shit, for the rest of your fucking life. Have fun!
There is no misfortune. It is all fortune. It is all amazing shit that happened and you are an amazing person for pulling yourself forward. Nothing can prevent you from moving forward with your life when you understand misfortune is nothing but a speed bump in your way. It happens to everyone sooner or later. The unfortunate people live sheltered lives with silver spoons shoved up their asses and never face the reality of the world until their friends and relatives start dying, a family member becomes a raging alcoholic, their house burns down, or they lose a child to some disease or accident, and then their whole fucking world comes tumbling down. You have already been there and dealt with that. What in the fuck is there to be depressed about? Life is fucking great when you have already seen the worst. Another sunrise, another sunset, and nothing but adventure in between. Hey! I came out of the market yesterday and saw this! Life is fucking amazing.
Climb up on top of that pile of shit and the whole world looks a lot clearer. I had a fucking great childhood and would not change a thing. I went to the school of hard knocks and came out on top. I have no guilt for the way I was raised or the decisions I made. I made them with all the knowledge I had at the time and in the environment, I was stuck in. I understand who I was and who I am now. I am the luckiest man on the planet. I should be toothless, working in a gas station in podunk Arkansas, with a 6th-grade education. I have no fucking idea how I turned my life around. I just knew I wanted something different for myself. I knew this when I was 8 years old. (Another story goes with that but this is getting too long. I mentally left home at 8 and I clearly remember the day.) The fact is, shit only gets you down when you let it.
Who are you?
I found this yesterday. Sorry, you can’t see all the colors. The city lights probably interfered with the picture. Still, it was one of the most amazing rainbows I had ever seen. I just stood and watched it for about 10 minutes as it slowly faded away.
Fuck this shit ratty. EVERYONE HAS STORIES. Grow up and move on. I’ll crawl down any hole you care to go into. I have scooped up pieces of dead body off the streets, had people (children) die in my arms, watched people die the most horrible deaths imaginable while begging to die. All you got is a story. Hold onto it tight enough and you can drown with it.
Yeah, I don’t disagree. Perhaps “taped to the wall” would have been more appropriate.
Well, not to digress into understatement, but, you have probably heard the old adage “A fox sniffs his own hole first”…no wait…that’s not it.
Uh…I know! “Familiarity breeds contempt”…NO that’s not it either(although close)…yeah I think I have now…”Birds of a feather flock together”… THERE! (chest puffed with self-satisfaction)…
Well, since we are waxing philosophical here…
“A bird in hand is better than throwing sour grapes at glass houses from the bushes.”
Etc, etc., …Ratster, you missed the point entirely. I wasn’t inviting you to a “who had it worse” convention. I was trying to illustrate the fact that insulting, rude, sarcastic banter was an integral and ever- present feature of my early life. Sometimes it spilled over into the realm of borderline excessive, but it was a useful learning tool for dealing with the Neanderthals from the generation before me. What people euphemistically refer to today as “bullying” wouldn’t have even qualified for the label of insult.
Those assholes thrived on picking on kids smaller than themselves. Genetics and time pretty much took care of that shit.
Sure, it would have helped immensely to have had a parent or other who could have helped with understanding why some people are just fucked up and take it out on others. But that’s not how it was. Fortunately, when my son was a little boy thirty- five years ago or so and had to deal with heathens, I was there to aid his understanding and therefore his ability to cope.
The result of coming up this way is that the few friends I still have who have not succumbed to the various forces which take us all eventually, all have an appreciation for self-deprication and sarcastic interplay which adds flavor to an ever increasingly difficult older life. The only abusive ones from my past have long been relegated to the realm of “friendless” or oblivion.
I get it I that not everyone can relate to or handle this brand of humor. My wife doesn’t get it as her family had no sense of humor, as far as I can tell.
You are not wrong in painting with the “oddball” brush. I do in fact recognize and embrace my oddballistic nature.
One of the features I look for in people or in their communications, is an expression or expressions of a perspective that indeed indicates a departure from the “norm” or the mundane. That is one reason why I “lurked” around here for a good while before signing the “blood contract”. It seemed apparent that there were at least some around here who, perhaps, might share some of my demented and disturbed humor. I might have overestimated the extent of this “shared pathology”.
Nothing in your lengthy diatribe was even remotely shocking or foreign to me. Except the part of seriously wishing harm to others beyond the immediate reaction of a child’s mind.
I am grateful for the childhood I had in spite of the things that would be considered unacceptable today. I choose to dwell in those carefree, happy, innocent places rather than the painful, lonely, fearful, intimidating ones.
No one else can know what effect a person’s experience(s) has had on them, save what they are willing to honestly divulge. And even then the full extent may remain hidden. Even when expressed they are merely stories, to others. Mine is just that as well.
You cannot seriously expect to be able to dish out copious quantities of your own personal version of batshittery and not be prepared for others to reciprocate with their preferred flavor.
If I have to “walk on eggshells” or “pull my punches” or “watch my p’s and q’s” , then I would prefer to continue talking to myself rather than deal with overreactions. (Mumble mumble)…
(Edit for tide)
Wait! This is good stuff!! (scribbling frantically) I need to write this down! Ooh I wait with excited anticipation for the opportunity to quote you…
Oh, we’re telling childhood stories now? Cool! But you two are lightweights, just so you know. Check out THIS shit…
This one time… at band cam-… (Aw, crap. Disregard that. Wasn’t a childhood incident. Anyway…)
So, there I was. Ripe old age of four. Me, my mom, my baby sister, my granny, my grandaddy, and my uncle all living in a two-bedroom concrete block housing projects apartment no bigger than my current living room.
There was a little convenience store that sat right outside the projects boundary, maybe a quarter mile away. It was where all the local kids (me included) would trek to get their daily candy and soda fix. But I was never allowed to go alone. Always had to have an adult or at least one older kid walking with me. Well, one day my grandaddy reached into his pocket and gave me a quarter. (Cha-ching! Jackpot!) Naturally, I was Jonesing for my sugar fix, but none of the adults wanted to walk me to the store. Even worse, all the older neighborhood kids were nowhere to be found that day. ARRRRRRGH! That damn quarter was burning a hole in my pocket, and I would soon be going into Sugar DT’s. It was HORRIBLE! So, in a moment of delirious desperation, almost without conscious thought, I felt myself slowly being drawn away from my home and across the grassy central common area toward the store.
It was frightening. Every other step I took, I would look back over my shoulder to make sure no adult was pursuing me, as I could still see the front door and windows of our apartment. Then I finally reached the main road that had to be crossed to reach the store. It was the point of no return. If I crossed that road, there was no turning back. I stood there on the sidewalk for several moments, struggling with indecision. To cross that road would be to completely disobey my mom and grandparents, and that would make me a horribly disobedient child. But my craving for sugary sweetness, punctuated by the burning of the coin in my pocket, inevitably overruled any concepts of good behavior in me that day. And before I knew it, my feet were quickly carrying me across that treacherous blacktop chasm toward my destination.
I don’t remember much after that. I do know I made it to the store. I should mention at this point that the lady who ran the place happened to be good friends with my Mom. And I seem to recall she may have inquired as to why I was there alone. Which is to say I did not return home without an escort, and my candy craving did not get sated that day.
So, you two can brag all day about torching cars and houses and stealing spare change. But until you have experienced a full day suffering through sugar withdrawals at the age of 4, while at the SAME TIME getting a spanking for crossing the road alone, you have no idea what tough childood really is. 
Oh the horror! I guess this speaks to the relentless pursuit of the “ultimate eggnog”.
(looking around for pad and pen)
Pray tell, were there other “unfulfilled opportunities” concerning confectionaries?
How did that make you feel?
How are you feeling now, as you you revisit this traumatizing event?
If you could talk to your younger self now, what would you tell him?..Oh, sorry, time’s up. We can pick this up next time…
(edit for cellophane)
